From Tower to Ridgeley

In the summer of 2004, I drove across the desert from Amarillo, Texas to Los Angeles, California, by way of Gallup, New Mexico, Flagstaff Arizona, Winona, Kingman, Barstow and San Bernardino. I drove the U-haul and my husband, at the time, drove our 1989 Red Honda Prelude. We drove straight through, for 19 hours, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. Needless today there were some hallucinations along the way as the monotonous straight line of highway stretched out ahead of me through the flat desert land of the Southwest. I distinctly remember the sudden anxiety that flooded my veins when we started to hit the traffic of the outer Los Angeles metropolis. I held a firm but sweaty grip on the steering wheel while the U-haul wobbled across ruts between lanes and in and out of a sea of honking Angelinos, shaking their heads at yet another new arrival.

I came to Los Angeles, like everyone else, with a hope and a dream. I left Los Angeles 15 years later with a new husband, two beautiful children, and headed to Boise, Idaho.

The contents of this essay are glimpses into what transpired in the in-between time. From my first apartment in Beverly Hills, to my rented room in West Hollywood and finally my bungalow apartment on Ridgely Drive, when I met my love and began a new life.

Not all of the poems are songs, but those that are, I have recorded and inserted the songs into the audiobook version of this book, so you can enjoy the sound of the words as they live in my mind.

In the beginning…

Shabby Chic (linked HERE)

Sittin' here in Beverly Hills

Starin' at my overdue bills.

Willin' the next paycheck to come

With my positive speech and a bottle of rum.

I'm just chillin' in Beverly Hills.

Sittin' here in Beverly Hills

Wiping dust off the window sills.

Car broke down the other day,

Heaven knows how I'm gonna pay.

I'm just slummin' in Beverly Hills

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, yeah, yeah

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, oh, oh,

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me yeah, yeah,

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, oh, oh, oh.

Livin' well beyond my means

Where the bums are wearin' Hilfiger jeans.

How the hell did I get here?

Is there someone who can make it all clear?

I'm just slummin' in Beverly Hills.

I'm just chillin' in Beverly Hills.

I'm just livin' in Beverly Hills.

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, yeah, yeah

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, oh, oh,

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me yeah, yeah,

Oh it's the Shabby Chic life for me, oh, oh, oh, oh.

Story behind Shabby Chic

When I moved to LA in the summer of 2004, I lived in a one bedroom, downstairs apartment on the last official street in the Beverly Hills, 90210 zip code: Tower Drive. Born in January of 1979, I was an 80’s and 90’s kid and enjoyed writing home as much as possible to have 90210 on my return address. I also lived there when Weezer’s song, Beverly Hills was playing on all the radio stations, so I was living the absolute 90’s kid dream. Around the corner was a little shopping plaza with a Coffee Bean & Tea leaf, a flower shop called “KaBloom” and a great little sushi restaurant and bar. Between singing gigs and working as an extra on TV and movie sets, I worked as a clerk at KaBloom, watering plants, learning how to arrange flowers from the florist, and hanging out occasionally with our flower delivery driver, who also happened to have been the drummer for the Butthole Surfers back in the day.

On my way to and from the flower shop, and every weekend morning, I would stop and spend time at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Down the street was one of the most prestigious talent agencies in LA, so there was guaranteed to be at least one celebrity an hour stopping by for a coffee to and from a visit with their agent. There was the time Ryan Gosling and I stared intently at each other in line, as I tried to place how I knew him in my head…, Camp? No. College? No. Oh! Right! The Notebook! (actually, the Mickey Mouse Club, which is why I couldn’t place him. My nostalgic memory placed him in my childhood, not my adulthood) Anyway, he was a good sport and smiled back when I realized who he was.

My most cherished memories are of my Sunday morning crossword puzzle dates with Norm MacDonald, of Saturday Night Live fame. He lived the next street over. We would sit together and work on the New York Times crossword puzzles at the sidewalk tables along the outside of the cafe. I would help him out with clues and he would regale me with stories from his night out, playing poker with Adam Sandler and Larry Flint. I always was invited to the games, but never took him up on the invitations. My life was surreal on Tower Drive. This song pretty much sums it up as what it was: Shabby Chic.

The End (linked HERE)

I want to be alone whenever you're around me.

I crave society when you're nowhere to be found.

I used to want to always be near you.

You were my only friend.

But now I hardly like you

And your heart will be broken in the end.

I want more than you can give

And have more than you can take.

So send me back I was never yours

And you will never be mine.

I used to want to always be near you.

You were my only friend.

But now I hardly like you

And your heart will be broken in the end.

My heart is already broken,

I broke it a long time ago.

My heart is already broken,

I broke it a long time ago.

I used to want to always be near you.

You were my only friend.

But now I hardly like you

And your heart will be broken in the end.

Story behind The End and New Song

I wrote this on the front steps of my apartment building on Tower Drive, at sunset. I remember the experience of writing this song vividly. I remember the deep orange and gold of the setting sun shining as I wrote these words in my notebook. I only really know 3 or 4 chords on the guitar, and I had figured out a cool, minor chord that really resonated with me, and the tune plopped out. I was mad and blamed him for everything that had gone wrong with our 7-year marriage. I was 19 when we married and 26 when I wrote this.

I wrote the tune to New Song in 2003, in Amarillo, TX with my ex, before we packed up and moved to LA. He, to pursue a career in male modelling and me, to make money with my music degree. The song we wrote was called, “Butterfly in the Spring”. It was a beautiful night when he would call out a line of original poetry and I would put it to music. We wrote a beautiful song together. I wrote these words over the old ones because it hurt too much to hear them, but I loved the tune. After I had learned to forgive and realize I was as much a part of the problem as he was, I wrote a New Song in response to The End.

New Song (linked HERE)

I wrote a new song for you.

Don't stop me 'til I'm through.

Words don't come easily.

Give me time dear,

I'm sorting through feelings from all these years.

I thought you were the one that would last forever.

Forever is such a long time.

I was a child then, living life by a rhyme.

I wrote a new song for you

Do do do do do do.

I don't want to hurt you but life is calling;

Telling me that I should start brand new.

You'll be fine dear, a new life is waiting.

Take it and leave me behind.

I'm always yours dear.

You will always be mine.

The Night Comes Blue (Linked HERE)

The night comes blue

on a little wing

sliding on a steel string

across the bridge of sighs

the spirit is here

breathing the fog

of sleepless beauty

the soul burns

within the breast

of the music

like the embers glowing

white beneath the ash

the night comes blue

on a little wing

sliding on a steel string

across the bridge of sighs

Story behind Night Comes Blue

Before moving to Los Angeles, I had been living in Amarillo, a small city in the panhandle of Texas, where I grew up. This was post college, so it felt like a whole new world. I had a group of new friends in the arts crowd and enjoyed a very post-college bohemian experience performing theater, opera and writing poetry; a veritable Moulin Rouge existence in cowboy boots. At one gathering in particular, we created a poetry circle, and passed around pages to complete group poems. “Night Comes Blue” is one of those collaborative efforts. It can mean whatever you want it to mean and meant something different to each person who collaborated on its creation. The host of the party gave it to me to take to Hollywood and put it to music. My memory of writing this tune is sitting at my lamp-lit piano, late at night sipping a beer, smoking a cigarette and messing around with different modes on the piano. I was making good on a promise. My first (and only) commissioned song! I performed this once in a coffee shop on Hollywood Blvd accompanied only by a bagpipe.

Holy Hill (Linked HERE)

I used to walk another way

Down a narrow, walled-in street.

I walked and walked and followed my feet

To where the End and the Beginning meet.

I left the safety of my street

And the clouds grew thick with rhyme.

Though the breeze was warm , I was fragile

And I shivered and trembled in time.

And now I search for my land of Eden

And I search for my C'est la vie.

Where's the balance from my meditation?

I am grasping for a sense of me.

I left you standing all alone.

You held me back and I broke free.

I gained the burden of a new life and lost a part of me.

And so I search for my land of Eden

And I search for my C'est la vie.

Where's the balance from my meditation?

I am grasping for a sense of me.

I'm lost in a sea of self-reflection,

Self-doubt, self-love, and self-hate.

There's no direction in this lake of tar

I cry for help, and I stand, and I wait.

And now I'm walking on my own down a wild and dusty road

I see a light up ahead and I hurry my step , but I'm heavy under my load.

And I keep searching for my land of Eden

And I keep searching for my C'est la vie.

Where's the balance from my meditation?

I keep grasping for a sense of me.

Story behind Holy Hill

Remind you of anyone? Yeah, this one is clearly influenced by the Indigo Girls. In middle school, two of my best friends were die-hard fans of the Indigo Girls and since they could both play guitar, that was their act at the talent show. We lived and breathed the Indigo Girls and particularly, their song, “Closer to Fine”. When I lived in LA I got to see them perform live at the Santa Monica Pier twice which was amazing. Those people who I meet that share my love for their music always end up holding a special place in my heart. I used to get teased for liking the Indigo Girls because people assumed I was a lesbian. I’m not. They just write deeply insightful poetry and beautiful music with haunting harmonies that are fun and easy to sing along to. They’ve also used their platform to raise positive awareness of LGBTQ rights and I celebrate them for that. This song was written when I was struggling deeply with my spiritual awareness and trying to make sense of how the world in which I had been raised was the same world in which I lived. The imagery in my mind was of Bunyan's A Pilgrim’s Progress, in case that’s not obvious to those familiar with the piece. This poem was the extent to which I was willing to communicate my internal spiritual struggles for a very long time. I felt that the style of the Indigo Girls and the similar spiritual struggles they express in their early work seemed a fitting musical setting.

One in a Hundred (Linked HERE)

I'm just one of a hundred, thousand, million, billion girls in Hollywood, wearing a hat for everybody to see.

I'm just one of a hundred, thousand, million, billion girls in Hollywood, trying to make it in the city by the sea.

But now I'm caught in a circus, a round-about, lost in the lights of Hollywood, dating again, so I can find my next meal.

Aren't my fingernails pretty? And my conversation witty?

Aren't my high heels sexy? And my brown eyes fetching?

So, I'll give up acting and buy a guitar, write a few songs about Hollywood; maybe I can get a coffee shop gig.

After my 9 to 5 I'll play my songs and feel I'm part of Hollywood; maybe sell a CD and get a gig at a bar.

Then I'll be one of a hundred, thousand, million, billion girls in Hollywood, singing about the jerk who broke my heart.

Aren't my fingernails pretty? And my song lyrics gritty?

Aren't my high heels sexy? And my poetry vexing?

I'm just one of a hundred, thousand, million, billion girls in Hollywood, wearing a hat for everybody to see.

I'm just one of a hundred, thousand million, billion girls in Hollywood, thinking the world still revolves around me.

I'll have you know; the world revolves around me.

Aren't my fingernails pretty?

And my conversation witty?

Aren't my high heels sexy?

And my brown eyes fetching?

I'm just one of a hundred, thousand, million, billion girls in Hollywood.

Story behind One in a Hundred

After my divorce, I went on a lot of dates. In fact, I had it down to a sort of science. I always ordered big, ate very little, and made sure to take home enough for dinner to last the next two nights. Living on a non-profit wage in LA, it was the best way to eat. I mean there were times I only had $9 for groceries after rent and bills, so those meals often took the place of 99 cent store tortillas and black beans. I had some amazing experiences on these dates like the time I got to sit courtside at a Laker game and meet Jack Nicolson in the VIP lounge at halftime, or the time I started the evening listening to jazz at LACMA and ended the evening singing jazz with Marty and Elayne at the Dresden in Los Feliz. I also had some not so amazing experiences, like the time…or many times I had to pretend like my friend needed me urgently and quickly take a cab out the back of the restaurant. There were a few guys I fell for pretty hard, and I ended up with my heart broken.

I wrote this song at least 4 years after writing Shabby Chic.

I had moved from a one bedroom in Beverly Hills to an upstairs bedroom in an old town home in West Hollywood, walking distance to the Grove. I was a part of the Hollywood story as small as that story was. When I read or sing back through this one, I can feel the sheen of Hollywood fading from my original outlook. At this point, I had gone through a divorce and experienced a little more of the dark side of living alone, in LA, as a woman in my 20’s. I was struggling with my identity and was disillusioned with the formulaic process of fame and fortune that I was observing all around me. I wanted so much more than what this song describes.

And that’s all she wrote, folks; That girl from my 20’s; That girl I used to be. When I sat down to write this compilation, I wasn’t sure what the end result would be. In 2006, I bought a bible-thick notebook with black leather binding, in which I wrote everything. All my thoughts, grocery lists, budgets, lists of books and movies and all sorts of poems and songs and date reviews. It was my therapy and writing in it kept me sane. I still have the notebook today, and it’s still not full. There are complete years that I skipped writing a single word and others that are only represented by random drawings by my children who found my notebook and shared some art with me in its pages. I have been contemplating how to tell this part of my life story for years now. There are so many side stories and tangents that I could go on. I considered writing a novel loosely based in truth and maybe a screenplay-type memoir. This seems like the most digestible method that I hope will provide beauty, insight and inspiration for others.

I love writing as an art form, but I feel I can share so much more through that subconscious communication that comes through music. I shied away from writing for many years after an English professor told me my writing was “pithy.” Now realizing it just means “to the point” I agree. I struggle with elaboration. When I write I tend to leave big holes in the descriptions, leaving the reader wondering what the heck I’m talking about. Maybe that’s because I’m so used to writing songs and poetry that seem to thrive on loose plots for imaginations to fill in.

One final fun song to get caught in your head. Enjoy!

Silly Party Song! (Linked HERE)